Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

SCENE I. — The Witch’s Cottage.

  SCENE II. — London. The neighbourhood of Tyburn.

  EPILOGUE

  An eighteenth century artist’s interpretation of Elizabeth Sawyer

  PROLOGUE

  The town of Edmonton hath lent the stage

  A Devil and a Witch, both in an age.

  To make comparisons it were uncivil

  Between so even a pair, a Witch and Devil;

  But as the year doth with his plenty bring

  As well a latter as a former spring,

  So hath this Witch enjoyed the first, and reason

  Presumes she may partake the other season:

  In acts deserving name, the proverb says,

  “Once good, and ever;” why not so in plays?

  Why not in this? since, gentlemen, we flatter

  No expectation; here is mirth and matter.

  MASTER BIRD.

  The whole argument of the play is this distich.

  Forced marriage, murder; murder blood requires:

  Reproach, revenge; revenge hell’s help desires.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  Sir Arthur Clarington.

  Old Thorney, a Gentleman.

  Carter, a Rich Yeoman.

  Suitors To Carter’s Daughters:

  Warbeck,

  Somerton,

  Frank, Thorney’s Son.

  Old Banks, a Countryman.

  Cuddy Banks, his Son.

  Countrymen:

  Ratcliffe,.

  Hamluc,

  Morris-dancers.

  Sawgut, an old Fiddler.

  A Dog, a Familiar.

  A Spirit.

  Countrymen, Justice, Constable, Officers, Serving-men and Maids.

  Mother Sawyer, the Witch.

  Ann, Ratcliffe’s Wife.

  Carter’s Daughters:

  Susan,.

  Katherine,

  Winnifred, Sir Arthur’s Maid.

  SCENE — The town and neighbourhood of Edmonton; in the end of the last act, London.

  ACT THE FIRST.

  SCENE I. — The neighbourhood of Edmonton. A Room in the House of Sir Arthur Clarington.

  ENTER FRANK THORNEY and Winnifred, who is with child.

  Frank. Come, wench; why, here’s a business soon dispatched:

  Thy heart I know is now at ease; thou need’st not

  Fear what the tattling gossips in their cups

  Can speak against thy fame; thy child shall know

  Whom to call dad now.

  Win. You have here discharged

  The true part of an honest man; I cannot

  Request a fuller satisfaction

  Than you have freely granted: yet methinks

  ’Tis an hard case, being lawful man and wife,

  We should not live together.

  Frank. Had I failed

  In promise of my truth to thee, we must

  Have then been ever sundered; now the longest

  Of our forbearing either’s company

  Is only but to gain a little time

  For our continuing thrift; that so hereafter

  The heir that shall be born may not have cause

  To curse his hour of birth, which made him feel

  The misery of beggary and want, —

  Two devils that are occasions to enforce

  A shameful end. My plots aim but to keep

  My father’s love.

  Win. And that will be as difficult

  To be preserved, when he shall understand

  How you are married, as it will be now,

  Should you confess it to him.

  Frank. Fathers are

  Won by degrees, not bluntly, as our masters

  Or wrongèd friends are; and besides I’ll use

  Such dutiful and ready means, that ere

  He can have notice of what’s past, th’ inheritance

  To which I am born heir shall be assured;

  That done, why, let him know it: if he like it not,

  Yet he shall have no power in him left

  To cross the thriving of it.

  Win. You who had

  The conquest of my maiden-love may easily

  Conquer the fears of my distrust. And whither

  Must I be hurried?

  Frank. Prithee do not use

  A word so much unsuitable to the constant

  Affections of thy husband: thou shalt live

  Near Waltham Abbey with thy uncle Selman;

  I have acquainted him with all at large:

  He’ll use thee kindly; thou shalt want no pleasures,

  Nor any other fit supplies whatever

  Thou canst in heart desire.

  Win. All these are nothing

  Without your company.

  Frank. Which thou shalt have

  Once every month at least.

  Win. Once every month!

  Is this to have an husband?

  Frank. Perhaps oftener;

  That’s as occasion serves.

  Win. Ay, ay; in case

  No other beauty tempt your eye, whom you

  Like better, I may chance to be remembered,

  And see you now and then. Faith, I did hope

  You’d not have used me so: ’tis but my fortune.

  And yet, if not for my sake, have some pity

  Upon the child I go with; that’s your own:

  And ‘less you’ll be a cruel-hearted father,

  You cannot but remember that.

  Heaven knows how —

  Frank. To quit which fear at once,

  As by the ceremony late performed

  I plighted thee a faith as free from challenge

  As any double thought; once more, in hearing

  Of Heaven and thee, I vow that never henceforth

  Disgrace, reproof, lawless affections, threats,

  Or what can be suggested ‘gainst our marriage,

  Shall cause me falsify that bridal oath

  That binds me thine. And, Winnifred, whenever

  The wanton heat of youth, by subtle baits

  Of beauty, or what woman’s art can practise,

  Draw me from only loving thee, let Heaven

  Inflict upon my life some fearful ruin!

  I hope thou dost believe me.

  Win. Swear no more;

  I am confirmed, and will resolve to do

  What you think most behoveful for us.

  Frank. Thus, then;

  Make thyself ready; at the furthest house

  Upon the green without the town, your uncle

  Expects you. For a little time, farewell!

  Win. Sweet,

  We shall meet again as soon as thou canst possibly?

  Frank. We shall. One kiss — away! [Exit Winnifred.

  Enter Sir Arthur Clarington.

  Sir Arth. Frank Thorney!

  Frank. Here, sir.

  Sir Arth. Alone? then must I tell thee in plain terms

  Thou hast wronged thy master’s house basely and lewdly.

  Frank. Your house, sir?

  Sir Arth. Yes, sir: if the nimble devil

  That wantoned in your blood rebelled against

  All rules of honest duty, you might, sir,

  Have found out some more fitting place than here

  To have built a stews in. All the country whispers

  How shamefully thou hast undone a maid,

  Approved for modest life, for civil carriage,

  Till thy prevailing perjuries enticed her

  To forfeit shame. Will you be honest yet,

  Make her amends and marry her?

  Frank. So, sir,

  I might bring both myself and her to beggary;

  And that would be a shame worse than the other.

  Sir Arth. You should have thought on this before, and then

  Your reason would have overswayed the passion

  Of your unruly lust. But that you may

  Be left without excuse, to salve the infamy


  Of my disgracèd house, and ‘cause you are

  A gentleman, and both of you my servants,

  I’ll make the maid a portion.

  Frank. So you promised me

  Before, in case I married her. I know

  Sir Arthur Clarington deserves the credit

  Report hath lent him, and presume you are

  A debtor to your promise: but upon

  What certainty shall I resolve? Excuse me

  For being somewhat rude.

  Sir Arth. It is but reason.

  Well, Frank, what think’st thou of two hundred pounds

  And a continual friend?

  Frank. Though my poor fortunes

  Might happily prefer me to a choice

  Of a far greater portion, yet, to right

  A wrongèd maid and to preserve your favour,

  I am content to accept your proffer.

  Sir Arth. Art thou?

  Frank. Sir, we shall every day have need to employ

  The use of what you please to give.

  Sir Arth. Thou shall have’t.

  Frank. Then I claim

  Your promise. — We are man and wife.

  Sir Arth. Already?

  Frank. And more than so, sir, I have promised her

  Free entertainment in her uncle’s house

  Near Waltham Abbey, where she may securely

  Sojourn, till time and my endeavours work

  My father’s love and liking.

  Sir Arth. Honest Frank!

  Frank. I hope, sir, you will think I cannot keep her

  Without a daily charge.

  Sir Arth. As for the money,

  ’Tis all thine own! and though I cannot make thee

  A present payment, yet thou shalt be sure

  I will not fail thee.

  Frank. But our occasions —

  Sir Arth. Nay, nay,

  Talk not of your occasions; trust my bounty;

  It shall not sleep. — Hast married her, i’faith, Frank?

  ’Tis well, ’tis passing well! — then, Winnifred,

  Once more thou art an honest woman. Frank,

  Thou hast a jewel; love her; she’ll deserve it.

  And when to Waltham?

  Frank. She is making ready;

  Her uncle stays for her.

  Sir Arth. Most provident speed.

  Frank, I will be thy friend, and such a friend! —

  Thou’lt bring her thither?

  Frank. Sir, I cannot; newly

  My father sent me word I should come to him.

  Sir Arth. Marry, and do; I know thou hast a wit

  To handle him.

  Frank. I have a suit t’ye.

  Sir Arth. What is’t?

  Anything, Frank; command it.

  Frank. That you’ll please

  By letters to assure my father that

  I am not married.

  Sir Arth. How!

  Frank. Some one or other

  Hath certainly informed him that I purposed

  To marry Winnifred; on which he threatened

  To disinherit me: — to prevent it,

  Lowly I crave your letters, which he seeing

  Will credit; and I hope, ere I return,

  On such conditions as I’ll frame, his lands

  Shall be assured.

  Sir Arth. But what is there to quit

  My knowledge of the marriage?

  Frank. Why, you were not

  A witness to it.

  Sir Arth. I conceive; and then —

  His land confirmed, thou wilt acquaint him throughly

  With all that’s past.

  Frank. I mean no less.

  Sir Arth. Provided

  I never was made privy to’t.

  Frank. Alas, sir,

  Am I a talker?

  Sir Arth. Draw thyself the letter,

  I’ll put my hand to’t. I commend thy policy;

  Thou’rt witty, witty, Frank; nay, nay, ’tis fit:

  Dispatch it.

  Frank. I shall write effectually. [Exit.

  Sir Arth. Go thy way, cuckoo; — have I caught the young man?

  One trouble, then, is freed. He that will feast

  At other’s cost must be a bold-faced guest.

  Re-enter Winnifred in a riding-suit.

  Win, I have heard the news; all now is safe;

  The worst is past: thy lip, wench [Kisses her]: I must bid

  Farewell, for fashion’s sake; but I will visit thee

  Suddenly, girl. This was cleanly carried;

  Ha! was’t not, Win?

  Win. Then were my happiness,

  That I in heart repent I did not bring him

  The dower of a virginity. Sir, forgive me;

  I have been much to blame: had not my lewdness

  Given way to your immoderate waste of virtue,

  You had not with such eagerness pursued

  The error of your goodness.

  Sir Arth. Dear, dear Win,

  I hug this art of thine; it shows how cleanly

  Thou canst beguile, in case occasion serve

  To practise; it becomes thee: now we share

  Free scope enough, without control or fear,

  To interchange our pleasures; we will surfeit

  In our embraces, wench. Come, tell me, when

  Wilt thou appoint a meeting?

  Win. What to do?

  Sir Arth. Good, good, to con the lesson of our loves,

  Our secret game.

  Win. O, blush to speak it further!

  As you’re a noble gentleman, forget

  A sin so monstrous: ’tis not gently done

  To open a cured wound: I know you speak

  For trial; ‘troth, you need not.

  Sir Arth. I for trial?

  Not I, by this good sunshine!

  Win. Can you name

  That syllable of good, and yet not tremble

  To think to what a foul and black intent

  You use it for an oath? Let me resolve you:

  If you appear in any visitation

  That brings not with it pity for the wrongs

  Done to abusèd Thorney, my kind husband, —

  If you infect mine ear with any breath

  That is not thoroughly perfumed with sighs

  For former deeds of lust, — may I be cursed

  Even in my prayers, when I vouchsafe

  To see or hear you! I will change my life

  From a loose whore to a repentant wife.

  Sir Arth. Wilt thou turn monster now? art not ashamed

  After so many months to be honest at last?

  Away, away! fie on’t!

  Win. My resolution

  Is built upon a rock. This very day

  Young Thorney vowed, with oaths not to be doubted,

  That never any change of love should cancel

  The bonds in which we are to either bound

  Of lasting truth: and shall I, then, for my part

  Unfile the sacred oath set on record

  In Heaven’s book? Sir Arthur, do not study

  To add to your lascivious lust the sin

  Of sacrilege; for if you but endeavour

  By any unchaste word to tempt my constancy

  You strive as much as in you lies to ruin

  A temple hallowed to the purity

  Of holy marriage. I have said enough;

  You may believe me.

  Sir Arth. Get you to your nunnery;

  There freeze in your cold cloister: this is fine!

  Win. Good angels guide me! Sir, you’ll give me leave

  To weep and pray for your conversion?

  Sir Arth. Yes:

  Away to Waltham! Pox on your honesty!

  Had you no other trick to fool me? well,

  You may want money yet.

  Win. None that I’ll send for

  To you, for hire of a damnation.

  When I am gone, think on my just complaint:

  I w
as your devil; O, be you my saint! [Exit.

  Sir Arth. Go, go thy ways; as changeable a baggage

  As ever cozened knight: I’m glad I’m rid of her.

  Honest! marry, hang her! Thorney is my debtor;

  I thought to have paid him too; but fools have fortune. [Exit.

  SCENE II. — Edmonton. A Room in Carter’s House.

  ENTER OLD THORNEY and Carter.

  O. Thor. You offer, Master Carter, like a gentleman; I cannot find fault with it, ’tis so fair.

  Car. No gentleman I, Master Thorney; spare the Mastership, call me by my name, John Carter. Master is a title my father, nor his before him, were acquainted with; honest Hertfordshire yeomen; such an one am I; my word and my deed shall be proved one at all times. I mean to give you no security for the marriage money.

  O. Thor. How! no security? although it need not so long as you live, yet who is he has surety of his life one hour? Men, the proverb says, are mortal; else, for my part, I distrust you not, were the sum double.

  Car. Double, treble, more or less, I tell you, Master Thorney, I’ll give no security. Bonds and bills are but terriers to catch fools, and keep lazy knaves busy; my security shall be present payment. And we here about Edmonton hold present payment as sure as an alderman’s bond in London, Master Thorney.

  O. Thor. I cry you mercy, sir; I understood you not.

  Car. I like young Frank well, so does my Susan too; the girl has a fancy to him, which makes me ready in my purse. There be other suitors within, that make much noise to little purpose. If Frank love Sue, Sue shall have none but Frank. ’Tis a mannerly girl, Master Thorney, though but a homely man’s daughter; there have worse faces looked out of black bags, man.

  O. Thor. You speak your mind freely and honestly. I marvel my son comes not; I am sure he will be here some time to-day.

  Car. To-day or to-morrow, when he comes he shall be welcome to bread, beer, and beef, yeoman’s fare; we have no kickshaws: full dishes, whole bellyfuls. Should I diet three days at one of the slender city-suppers, you might send me to Barber-Surgeons’ hall the fourth day, to hang up for an anatomy. — Here come they that —

  Enter Warbeck with Susan, Somerton with Katherine.

  How now, girls! every day play-day with you? Valentine’s day too, all by couples? Thus will young folks do when we are laid in our graves, Master Thorney; here’s all the care they take. And how do you find the wenches, gentlemen? have they any mind to a loose gown and a strait shoe? Win ’em and wear ’em; they shall choose for themselves by my consent.

  War. You speak like a kind father. — Sue, thou hear’st

  The liberty that’s granted thee; what say’st thou?

  Wilt thou be mine?

  Sus. Your what, sir? I dare swear